


Lederhosen

by NikoNotHere



Series: Paul x Schneider Series [3]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Anal Fingering, Begging, Bets & Wagers, Challenges, Clothing Kink, Competition, Flirting, M/M, Meet and Greets, Photo Shoots, Semi-Public Sex, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:13:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24031114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikoNotHere/pseuds/NikoNotHere
Summary: Paul has "adjusted" Schneider's outfit for a photoshoot. This prompts a friendly wager between the two, which quickly devolves into a serious competition.
Relationships: Paul Landers/Christoph Schneider
Series: Paul x Schneider Series [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1730440
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	Lederhosen

Schneider felt rather uncomfortable. 

On the outside, he looked fine. Well, as fine as goofy, stereotypical lederhosen with matching shirts, socks, and hats could be. Rammstein was doing their yearly "Oktoberfest" photoshoot, and this year someone had the bright idea to throw them all in traditional lederhosen with the works. He'd already been called "adorable" too many times to count, and it was wearing on him. 

But on the topic of "wearing," Paul had managed to stand directly beside him in each shot; very, very closely. 

He grunted in annoyance as Paul looked up at him, wiggling his eyebrows and grinning like a fool. Schneider simply rolled his eyes at him. Paul was vying for his attention for *that* reason, and he'd not get it. Schneider was a professional, he reminded himself again, and no amount of--

He stiffened suddenly, his smile for the photographers luckily still plastered onto his face. He felt Paul's gentle fingers sliding down past the makeshift "flap" the smaller man had created earlier that day on the backside of Schneider's lederhosen.

"Leder-fick-hosen!" Paul had triumphantly declared that morning, holding them up as if they were a newly anointed king. He had cut a hole in the backside of them, to mimic Flake's Bück Dich costume.

"You can now be Till's new fuck toy," Paul teased, handing the pair over to Schneider. "Give Flake a break from the leash and try out a drum machine."

"Flake would have a terrible time with a drum machine," Schneider said, snorting out a laugh as he inspected the lederhosen.

"Not gonna lie," Paul mused as Schneider held the outfit up against himself experimentally, "Seeing you like that would be hot."

"Seeing me on my hands and knees getting humped by Till makes you horny?"

"Not specifically. Seeing you needy and presenting yourself like you're begging does, though. Being on your knees is just a bonus. The begging is what's hot."

Schneider had seen the ravenous lust in Paul's eyes then and smirked.  
"You're so easy to fire up."

"Is that a challenge?

Schneider had sighed, but smiled at Paul's enthusiasm.  
"It doesn't matter where you put a "flap," Paul. I'm a professional. I don't care if you unbutton it and show my ass to the world: you're not making me beg today."

Paul had just raised a cocky eyebrow and grinned right back at him.

Now, Schneider realized he'd made a grave mistake in his confidence.

Paul's fingers slowly and deliberately caressed his ass cheek, having slid past the buttoned flap with ease.  
"How convenient," he heard the shorter man murmur next to him.

Schneider swore at himself mentally, but maintained his soft and cheerful persona for the pictures. Soft, however, was an adjective that could not be applied to the rest of his body. Thank God the lederhosen was a thick enough leather to resist showing imprints of bulges.

Why the fuck hadn't he made sure the flap was sealed properly while buttoned? He'd practically given his ass to Paul on a silver platter, and he was quickly discovering that feeling Paul's fingers stroking across him in a public location was crippling.

Paul must have felt the tension in him, for he slid his fingers out and gave him a quick acknowledging pat on the butt before resuming his hamming for the cameras. Schneider took a brief moment to glare down at him, but Paul seemed eirher blissfully unaware, or perhaps blissfully aware and purposefully ignoring him. 

Schneider felt heat creeping up his neck at that realization. He would be *damned* if he let Paul control him so easily. The bet was still on, and he felt very confident that he could make Paul beg for sex first by the end of the day.

He just needed to-- metaphorically and literally-- watch his ass.

It was proving harder than he initially expected.

What had started as the fun little bet had quickly devolved, at least in Schneider's mind, to a very serious competition. Paul was determined to submit him, and make him a writhing, begging mess by the end of the photoshoot. He had been firmly self-assured that Paul would throw him nothing he couldn't handle. 

Right up until Paul had stroked his ass. 

Schneider had never been fondled in public. Hell, he'd never so much as been given a loving look while out in front of anyone at all. Yet here was Paul, every so often waltzing his fingers across Schneider's bare butt-cheek like he owned it.

And by god did it turn Schneider on.

Would he ever show or admit it? Of course not. But he would be absolutely sure to give Paul the fucking of a lifetime at the end of the shoot once he'd won their bet. It was just a good bit harder when he himself was currently hard, straining at his underwear behind the confining lederhosen. 

For once he thanked the cameramen for their quick and efficient work. Normally he'd have demanded several extra sets, just to be sure. Today, though, he felt they'd done an adequate job on their first attempt, and had convinced the rest of the band of the same.

Paul had given him a look, a suggestive one that said, perhaps he were simply anxious to get home?

Schneider had confidently walked up to him and smiled down, condescendingly, and breathed into his ear, "No, Herr Landers. I am perfectly under control." Paul had shivered at the tickle of his breath in his ear, and Schneider felt pleased he had the upper hand.

His suave confidence had been rattled moments later by one of their booking agents rushing into the room, apologizing profusely. 

That was never a good sign.

Apparently, their photoshoot had been incorrectly labeled as a meet and greet, and several hundred fans had already lined up outside the building, ready and waiting to meet their heroes in lederhosen. 

Schneider stammered out some attempt at getting out of it, but the excuse was buried under Paul's loud exclamations of joy at the news. 

Of *course* they wanted to please their fans, he raved. No, they *certainly* did not have anything better to do and would *love* to spend a few hours meeting and signing things for them all.

Schneider glared a death-stare down at Paul, who'd sat down immediately next to him and smiled so big his damn cheeks must surely be sore by now, Schneider thought.

Schneider rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair, self-assured that no funny business would occur with fans making a steady stream before them. He was already calmed down anyhow, with a newfound determination simmering inside him. He smiled politely as the fans trailed by, and greeted them as he sincerely thanked them for their praise and signed various trinkets and posters.

For awhile, all seemed well. Schneider even built up the courage to lean over during a lull and whisper into Paul's ear.

"Seems like I'm doing just fine," he breathed, chuckling at his partner who'd been stuck with the same adoring fan for ten minutes. Schneider grinned wickedly at Paul's strained face, and knew he was trying desperately to be nice to his fan, but simultaneously wanting them to move along.

Schneider leaned in again, and let his tongue secretly swipe against Paul's ear as he said, "The bathroom is pretty roomy. Maybe you won't be able to wait until we get home."

With a short grunt, Paul flinched away from Schneider's ticklish words in his ear. Schneider saw with great satisfaction that Paul had flushed red, still trying desperately to focus on the fan in front of him and not his partner's suggestive words. Schneider smirked and rested back against his chair again. He clearly had this in the bag.

After several more long minutes of signings and photos, Schneider stifled a yawn and was about to lean over and tell Paul exactly how he was going to cash in on his "winnings," when he felt a tap on his other shoulder. 

He turned his head, leaning the opposite direction away from Paul to see who'd tried to get his attention. 

He jolted upright as he felt familiar fingers slide right into the backside of his lederhosen. He tried to sit back, but found the hand was forced down more the further back he sat. Trapped, Schneider stayed stiff, leaning forward on the signing table. 

"You fall for that stupid shoulder tap every time," Paul chuckled from beside him.

Till gave Schneider a weird look from his right side as Schneider was crowding his signing space. He coughed an apology as he felt Paul's damned fingers brushing across one cheek and onto the other, back and forth lazily. Desperately, Schneider tried scooting even farther forward, leaning his whole upper torso against the signing table. It looked weird, he knew, but no less weird than Paul with his arm down Schneider's ass crack. Paul would be forced to pull himself out or risk showing the entire world he liked to put his hand down his bandmate's pants: something Schneider knew for a fact he didn't want to do, at least not here.

With a wave of relief, Schneider felt Paul's hand withdraw. He was about to turn and make a snide comment about Paul being a quitter, when Paul's smug face was suddenly directly next to his own, only a few centimeters apart leaning up on the table with him. His hand, of course, followed suit, reaching even further and grazing along Schneider's balls for good measure.

Schneider shoved his fist to his mouth, biting his knuckles to stifle a whimper. He kept his head turned toward Paul with a mixture of arousal and barely contained fury pointed at him. 

Paul's blue eyes glittered mischievously at him, and he simply maintained his smirk and whispered, "Herr Schneider, you're so tense. You need a *release.*"

In desperation, Schneider sat back, hard. Paul was forced to follow, and Schneider managed to sit directly on Paul's wrist in the most uncomfy of ways. 

Paul yelped slightly and yanked his hand free. As an added relief, he could finally see the end of the line of fans that had gathered. He shot Paul a dirty look, and snarled quietly, "Looks like you won't win, Landers. I have yet to beg you for anything."

Paul shrugged, his carefree smile still present and about to drive Schneider insane. He had nothing left up his sleeve, and the signing was over, so there was no way Paul could--

"Let's take this to the bar!" Till suddenly shouted, followed by a rousing cheer from the rest of the fans and an even louder cheer from Paul. Schneider dropped his head into his hands with a groan, uncaring about how he looked to the fans in that moment.

A half hour later, and still in his too-tight, Paul-adjusted lederhosen, Schneider was sitting with an untouched beer and a scowl. Paul was prancing about in his own lederhosen, minus the ass-flap, and having seemingly the time of his life. Paul loved partying, regardless of who with. 

Paul waltzed over and plopped down beside Schneider, bubbling over with both booze and happiness. It bothered Schneider to a point where he felt coolness, not irritation anymore. He gave Paul a sweet smile in response to his over the top smugness, which earned him a puzzled look in return. 

Schneider subtly pulled Paul's lederhosen strap and yanked the man close to his face. Paul swallowed, his face blushing a shade darker as Schneider breathed heavily in his ear.

"You're not going to win. You're already losing. I can see it."

Schneider pulled out his last stop, dropping his voice to a level he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt Paul found irresistibly sexy. 

He purred in his partner's ear, pulling him even closer next to him, "All you have to do is beg me, and we'll leave immediately for--"

Schneider's train of thought immediately came to a grinding halt. 

Paul's fingers had somehow slid right back into his pants once more, rendering him stiff and speechless. How the hell Paul had figured out this seemingly instant trigger for him was maddening, uncalled for, and, unfortunately, wildly arousing. 

Damn him. 

Paul could feel it, too, and gave his ass a swift spank before trotting off to continue the partying. 

Schneider took only five more minutes of stewing in his arousal before making one last ditch effort at winning this stupid contest. He had almost resigned himself and his aching erection to submitting and giving Paul the satisfaction, but he steeled himself. He could do this.

He stalked up behind Paul, who was sitting next to Oli at the bar and eating some sort of cabbage dish. With the deepest, sexiest voice that he could muster, he growled into Paul's ear and pressed himself against his back, whispering, "I am going to take you into that bathroom, bend you over the sink and fuck you senseless, Landers. Just give up."

Schneider leaned back, and was very pleased to see Paul absolutely stunned by his abrupt move. Paul spun about on the bar stool, shock on his face.

The smirk on his face was slowly replaced by dismay as he saw Paul's shock was a front. 

Paul dramatically placed a hand over his heart in faux horror, and exclaimed very loudly, "Herr Schneider! Not in front of Oli's *salad*!"

Oli seemed incredibly weirded out by Paul's display, and pulled his salad plate far away from Paul's dramatic gestures. Paul did not notice, as he was busy laughing at Schneider as he tried to slink away in defeat.

"Oh no you don't," Paul insisted, looping his arm through one of Schneider's straps and yanking him close. "You don't get to submit quietly," he said, nudging Schneider who did his best to ignore Paul as he was dragged to a table. Schneider sat with a huff, still stubbornly refusing to give Paul the pleasure of a verbal confirmation of his "win."

"Look, just say it now, and I'll give you an easy out," Paul offered. "I'll leave you alone for the rest of the night. I'll even let you change!"

Schneider narrowed his eyes at Paul and simply glared. Paul would never get the satisfaction of--

Fuck. 

Paul leaned back in as he grabbed a strong fistful of Schneider's bare ass from the convenience of the flap.

"Fine," he said in his ear. "I'll make you beg for it, then."

He tightened his grip, and Schneider nearly yelped out loud. No one in the bar was paying them any attention whatsoever, but Schneider's cheeks burned from the feeling of semi-public touching-- both the cheeks on his face and elsewhere. 

"Say it," Paul demanded, slowly releasing his tight hold and sliding his hand to the other side.

Schneider set his jaw and stubbornly shook his head. He would not be beat like this.

Paul made a disapproving noise, then abruptly slid a finger straight into Schneider's crack. 

Schneider barely caught a choked gasp before it left his mouth, and felt his entire body stiffening from the touch.  
"Fuck," he spat through gritted teeth as Paul teased lightly with his finger. 

"Say it," Paul growled into his ear, "or I swear to god I'll finger your ass in front everyone else in this entire bar."

Schneider stiffened even further as Paul's finger continued straying south, pressing and teasing.

"Yes," Schneider finally whispered, attempting to squirm away from Paul's intrusive gestures.

"What's that, dear? Can't hear you. Better speak up."

A strangled noise left Schneider's mouth as Paul gripped his arm to keep him in the seat while pressing even more insistently with his finger.

"You win. Fuck, please, you win; I give, you win," Schneider stammered out in a rushed whisper. 

"Still not good enough. Beg."

Right as Schneider felt sure Paul was about to make good on his threat to defile him right there in front of the world, he whispered harshly, "Please fuck me, Paul; I'm begging you to fuck me, *please!*"

And just like that, Paul's hand was gone from his backside. Schneider collapsed in his chair, his heart pounding a near deafening beat in his ears. Paul gave him a quick peck on the forehead as a truce, then whispered again before bounding off to the karaoke mic, "I can't wait to bend *you* over the sink tonight, love."

**Author's Note:**

> Yet again, prompted by the lovely Tora. 
> 
> I really seem to have a thing for competitions involving dominance.


End file.
